


The Angel of Resurrection

by HollynRed



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, But not a ton of gore, Carmilla (Castlevania) is Her Own Warning, Castlevania Season 3 Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Hand Jobs, Human/Vampire Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kissing, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Romance, Romantic Angst, Slow Burn, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vampire Sex, Vampires, hector needs a hug, just some
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29089062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollynRed/pseuds/HollynRed
Summary: In an imagined world where season 3 doesn't suck for Hector and he falls in love with Arleigh, the Countess of Styria, instead.
Relationships: Hector (Castlevania)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25





	1. Dead of Winter

**Author's Note:**

> If I could rewrite season 3 for Hector, it would go a little like this:

The Angel of Resurrection 

Chapter 1-Dead of Winter 

Hector’s body was an inescapable prison of pain that limped with every step and plagued his mind with unrelenting exhaustion. 

Every trudge forward along the freezing mountainside ached all the way up his spine. Every breath he drew in filled him with cold so frigid it burned, and his early autumn clothes did little to buffer the roaring wind. His feet had surpassed sore and he worried the further along this arctic course Carmilla led him down the more likely it would become that he would start losing toes. His stomach was always in pain from how empty it was. 

“Come on, puppy,” Carmilla teased, tugging his chain with vicious strength so the frozen collar around his neck yanked and he pitched forward into the snow. 

That he couldn’t fucking take anymore. 

Humiliation tasted acrid in Hector’s mouth as he remembered the days when Dracula’s council of vampires answered to him. Took orders from him-Carmilla included. 

Now… now he’d ruined everything. Even the open wounds from his beatings didn’t hurt as much as that. 

Hector tried to keep pace with Carmilla and her undead troops as he was marched for… months? Years? How many miles had they gone? 

‘How many more can I make it?’ is a thought he kept trying to push from his mind. 

He remembered it had occurred to him, one night as he shivered on the snowy ground unable to sleep despite the tear tracks of exhaustion that froze on his face, that perhaps he’d died already. He certainly wasn’t destined for Heaven if such a place existed. 

‘Stop it,’ Hector scolded himself, ‘if you go on believing you will suffer without end, you really will go mad.’ 

But as the oppressing weight on his neck and shoulders from the collar leading up to a chain in Carmilla’s hand became familiar, he didn’t believe he had it in him to bear much more. Maybe his mind would go out before his body. 

“Almost there, sweet puppy,” Carmilla cooed as her red nails dug tiny puncture holes into the sides of his face and she turned him from side to side as if admiring a piece of jewelry. 

‘People treat their heirlooms better,’ Hector inwardly scoffed and bile rose in his throat at her touch. Where once he’d seen beauty and righteousness now he couldn’t stand the sight of her cold, blue eyes. One of his was still swollen shut from catching a ring on her finger. 

But… Hector’s mind caught up to what to she’d said. 

‘Could it be true?’ Hector dared to think with nervous, cautious hope, ‘As monstrous as she is, she’s a tactician. She doesn’t march an army without an endpoint.’ 

Countess Arleigh poured the rich, imported blood of a foreign princess into four separate glasses. 

Striga was the first to take one of delicate glasses in her strong grip and grumbled, “This plan is shit.” 

“I will advise,” Morana seconded, “that the forgemaster’s creations will follow his direction only. Even if he performs his human magic in the forge we provide, there is no way to know for certain whether his night creatures will be used as instruments for our cause. He chose Dracula’s side in the war, turning on his own species from what I’ve heard, which does not make him the worthiest candidate of trust.” 

“Neither of you are any fun at all,” Lenore chided, a pout on her lips as she sat with her glass, “we invited Hector here and Carmilla told us in her own writing that he wanted to take our side. He’s changed-he must be.” 

The Countess raised her glass to her lips and let the sweet, heady scent swirl around the glass before she took a sip. As the princess’ lifeblood caressed over her tongue, she tasted strawberry fields, laughter, freshly cooked holiday feasts, snowflakes freshly fallen on the tongue, and the warmth of many embraces. It soothed something in her to know the girl had had a good life, and she thanked her silently for the nourishment she provided now. 

Arleigh’s sharp, baby pink nails clinked on the glass as she set it down again. 

“I think Hector is more like us than he is like other humans,” Arleigh began, ignoring the disgusted snort from Striga, “because his life has been dictated by his power. Whether humans reject him or vampires accept him… it has always come down to power.” 

“I don’t know what to expect, but I’m curious, aren’t you? I’ve never met a forgemaster. I’ve never met a human who lived apart from other humans,” Arleigh shrugged, a smile playing on her lips as she looked at her little sister, “and I, for one, second Lenore’s excitement over Hector’s arrival. He is our guest, and we have not had the chance to meet new guests in quite a long time.” 

‘This will be a good thing for our coven, I’m sure of it,’ Arleigh thought, conviction strong in her lifeless heart, ‘and I know that when his skills combine with our strength, we can win this world back.’ 

“You don’t think he’ll be too frightened of us, will he?” Lenore asked later that day in the hallway when she’d caught Arleigh closing the door to her study. 

“No, I couldn’t imagine why. He’s a human man who makes night creatures-I’m sure he doesn’t scare easily,” Arleigh assured, thinking her sister’s concern was very sweet but unnecessary-the man had just worked with Dracula, after all. 

“You know how our sister can be…” Lenore trailed off, worrying her lower lip with one sharpened fang. 

“Carmilla knows better than to harm him and that we are extending an invitation,” Arleigh waved away, “he is a guest I am honored to host in our castle. I’m sure he’ll love it, too. How couldn’t he? This room is gorgeous, Lenore! You’ve outdone yourself.” 

Arleigh had asked two kind servants to prepare one of the large guest bedrooms on the upper floors for the forgemaster’s arrival. It occurred to the Countess she did not actually know anything about Hector’s preferences and so asked for them to fill the room with everything he would need and then some. 

To her surprise, Lenore had taken it upon herself to do the work instead. 

“It’s been centuries since I’ve sat down to even converse with a human man, so I could be off-the-mark,” Lenore winced. 

Looking around, Arleigh knew her sister needn’t worry. 

A bed with azure blankets and snow leopard skin throws hung suspended from the ceiling by thick golden chains like a gilded chandelier. They enveloped both sides of the bed and the head so that one had to enter at the foot and would be able to look up into the golden cocoon that led to a circular window on the ceiling. The mortal man could open and close the window with a lever on the wall whenever he wanted the sunlight. 

High, black marble bookcases boasted the best of vampiric knowledge along the right wall (Arleigh wondered which volume Hector would pick first and made a mental note to ask him sometime.) A desk stocked with fresh parchment, ink, and silver candles crowned the center of the shelves and it endeared Arleigh to notice Lenore had placed various knickknacks that looked like hammers, stars, and porcelain night creatures on the overhead shelf. 

The right wall could only be rivaled by the left; its rows of wardrobes and shelves of shoes would be more than Hector would probably bother to look through. The pantry full of human food sat next to the fireplace and a reading chair. 

“It is perfect,” Arleigh assured with genuine awe, and then elbowed Lenore with a smile, “who knew the princess had such an eye for decoration?” 

“Not one word to Striga,” Lenore groaned. 

Arleigh was beginning to feel a bit silly as the Countess over how giddy she felt. It had been ages since she’d seen a new face, and Hector’s arrival at the castle was sure to stir fresh life into everyone. 

‘It is so cold where we are though, for humans,’ Arleigh found herself fretting as she checked her long, black tresses in a mercury mirror, ‘I wonder how the journey has been, when you have to worry about things like freezing or fatigue.’ 

Arleigh’s reflection showed her the Countess. The elongated canines that grazed her lipstick were over a thousand years old. The silky, blush pink winter gown she wore was fashionable for this century, but the makers of the dress were unaware the exact same style was fashionable 300 then 600 and then 750 years ago, too, and she had nearly identical copies of it packaged away-most likely somewhere downstairs with the other things she had outlived. Her hands were clean, but they had ripped her a bloody place in this world as a monarch and as a monster. Her silver eyes stared back at her as they always had. 

But today, beyond what the mirror told her, she felt like little Arleigh again. With an uncharacteristic snort, she remembered when her mother would pin her black curls up on top of her head and tell her not to fidget. She remembered her bonnet being adjusted as she was instructed to, “make a good impression, little Arleigh, and maybe this man will be your husband one day!”

It hadn’t worked out that way, but memories of her mother still brought a smile to her face. 

‘Perhaps Hector is not the only one plagued by the human condition,’ Arleigh thought with a wistful smile in the mirror, ‘No matter how long… you never really change, do you?’ 

When she pulled herself from the spot to go and welcome the newcomer, she was the Countess once again.

They were nearly at the summit of the mountain and Hector wasn’t sure he was going to be able to make it. 

He was torn when he’d first seen the castle in the distance between relief and bone-deep dread. Relief, because he thought if he could just reach the place they were going, he would be allowed to rest even if it wasn’t long. Dread-well, fuck knows what they would do to him once they got there. It could be better, but his stomach would flutter in anxiety thinking of all the creative ways vampires liked to play games. 

Now, as he struggled to lift even one leg in front of the other on the steep, snowy incline, he wondered if it wasn’t a moot point anyways. He had open welts on the back of his neck from Carmilla yanking him by his chain and when she did it again, Hector let himself fall forward in the snow. 

‘Carmilla will beat me,’ Hector thought hazily. 

He didn’t care. The few precious seconds of respite where every muscle in his body could untense as he laid in the snow were worth it. And if it wasn’t, he doesn’t think he could have stopped himself from falling if he’d wanted to. 

The relief was short-lived as his chain was pulled and the metal dug into his open sores. The sudden flash of pain paired with being drug by the neck a foot forward in the snow made him cry out. 

“Up,” Carmilla snapped, her hand poised to yank again. 

“I can’t,” Hector answered honestly, weakly. 

“My patience is sapped, puppy,” Carmilla snarled the last word, dismounting her horse to crouch beside the man, “we’re very close to my home now. Do you see it? Up there? It is my castle where you will come and sit and be my good little fucking forgemaster. And good little forgemasters do what they are told.” 

“Please,” Hector croaked, but Carmilla wasn’t listening and instead motioned over one of the guards with a crooked, eager smile. 

“Ten lashes,” she instructed, and Hector did not even have the strength to cry.

“They’re on their way! I can see the troops from here, sister,” Lenore squealed, tugging on Arleigh’s coat sleeve. 

Arleigh gave the younger vampiress a bright smile and a reassuring squeeze on her hand as she understated, “I’m excited to greet them, too.” 

“You are both like excited little pups,” Striga sighed with a fond grin, “let us just hope Carmilla did what she promised.” 

“Oh, let today be a day of fun. We’ve all the time in the world for stoicism,” Morana teased. 

Striga rolled her eyes, but bent to kiss the smaller vampire. 

Arleigh scanned the crowd in anticipation akin to Lenore’s-both for the newcomer and her sister. Though she and Carmilla’s relationship had been tense before she’d left to infiltrate Dracula’s army, Arleigh desperately hoped this was the turning point that could bind them together again. 

But then Striga saw it first. 

“What in fuck’s name?” the muscular general asked. 

“Devils be with us,” Morana gasped with a hand to her mouth at the same time Lenore’s grip on Arleigh’s sleeve tightened and her red eyes widened in horrified disgust. 

It…was unmistakably him, the only one with a heartbeat. A weak, fluttering heartbeat. 

Countess Arleigh wouldn’t remember later if it was the weak pit-pattering in the forgemaster’s wheezing chest that made her own drop to her stomach, or if it was the smell of his terror and pain that permeated the air. 

This hit her the moment her eyes could make it out-a man, a very nearly dead man-limping in the snow with a thick metal collar around his neck. 

‘No, no no no no no, NO! He wasn’t a prisoner! I told her he wasn’t a prisoner!’ Arleigh thought, furious at being so blatantly ignored by her smug, fool of a sister and guilt-ridden when she heard Hector’s weak cough. 

Carmilla’s twisted, red-lipped smile and the chain in her hand, swinging like an expensive handbag held up in victory, made Arleigh’s gut curdle in anger and shame. She knew nothing about tonight would feel like victory. 

‘Oh, Carmilla,’ she thought with a piercing sadness as she used vampiric speed to cover the distance to her sister and the forgemaster, ‘what have you done?’


	2. Spark to Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to turn around for Hector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hector meets the Countess of Styria.

The Angel of Resurrection

Chapter 2- Spark to Life

Hector flinched so hard he fell backwards on the snow, crying out when he landed on the fresh lattice marks across his back. The pain was blinding, burning, and for a few seconds his mind forgot why he’d flinched in the first place. 

But as soon as he managed to blink and look up, there she was… another vampire who looked just as terrifying and terrible as the woman leading his chain. Hector’s lower lip trembled out of his control and his whole chest contracted with anxiety-how would she kill him? Or if not kill him, and he could hardly swallow past the thought, what other torture would she make him endure? 

Her eyes flashed, like Carmilla’s did whenever he was angry, and Hector found himself unable to stop subconsciously trying to move further away from this woman. Her claws were extended. He knew how it felt to be mangled by claws just like those-the proof was all over his body. Her fangs showed through her snarl and he shivered at what they could do. 

Carmilla never fed from him or allowed the others to use him in that way, but she loved to threaten him with it. It was one of her favorite means to toy with him, and now when he saw the other vampire’s fangs, revulsion, dread, fear, and anger filled him all at once. He could almost still feel the indents of fangs at his throat from the time Carmilla had teased him too hard and her fangs punctured skin. She’d beaten him that time claiming he’d done it to himself, trying to wriggle away. He hadn’t been. 

“Sister, you look well enough,” Carmilla greeted, “and you will be happy to know I went to all the trouble of fetching your little forgemaster. Its still a little ornery sometimes, but I’m sure any lingering rebellion can be beaten out.” 

Hatred. Indignation and hatred felt hot in Hector’s gut for this evil bitch who’d trekked him across the arctic. How someone could take such delight in other’s pain, in their misery… 

But then another thought struck him almost simultaneously with horror. 

He was being handed off. To someone Carmilla called “sister.” 

The woman Carmilla spoke with had long black hair and steely gray eyes-Hector thought her eyes looked cold and merciless. It contrasted deeply, ironically, with the soft pink color she wore. 

She seemed so angry. What if she was worse than Carmilla? Was she somehow above Carmilla in rank? Would he have been better off with the white-haired bitch after all? 

Hector’s breath had started to come in shallower pants, and he was having a hard time getting them to slow down. He felt like he could barely breathe, and he clutched his chest. 

“How could you have lived for this long and still fuck up this badly?” the unknown vampire snarled, pointing to Hector whose eyes widened to saucers. 

Whatever the vampire found so repulsive about him, it terrified him to think of what she might do. Was he not the forgemaster she wanted? Did he not appear, in his current state, to be capable of his forgemaster abilities? Hector’s breath began to leave him in gasps. 

Carmilla’s mouth downturned and with exasperation she snipped, “You wanted a forgemaster, Arleigh, and I brought you one, kicking and screaming, to your doorstep. It isn’t easy to acquire one of these, you know, and its always whining about something. Its filthy, too, but that can be remedied with a bucket of water-” 

“I asked you to invite the forgemaster to work with us! I asked you to negotiate with him! I asked you to offer him better than what Dracula could have given him-he was never a prisoner!” 

Those words shocked Hector, confused him. Sure, what he’d had with Carmilla was what he’d thought was a negotiation, but that was an act. Was this another psychological game, this vampire named Arleigh, was playing on him? But why? He didn’t have the strength to fight her-he didn’t have a prayer. 

He was already a prisoner-why couldn’t everyone just stop fucking lying to him?

Hector watched as Carmilla’s face twisted with a familiar arrogance that made him ill and she said, “What does it matter? It’s a human. Just put it downstairs and it’ll be pliable enough in a couple of months.” 

Calling him “it” was a new development of Carmilla’s in the presence of her vampiric sister, and it irked Hector more than he could show. He also didn’t want to fixate on what might be waiting for him “downstairs,” but his mind wandered to possibilities on its own accord and his breathing became tumultuous once again. 

“I know you know his name is Hector,” Arleigh said, and Hector looked up in genuine shock, “and I’m sure you’re aware of how badly you went against the wishes of our coven-not just mine. What you’ve done is despicable, and thanks to you, he has arrived on our doorstep nearly dead.” 

No one had called him by his name in months. It almost sounded odd to hear it on someone else’s lips. 

Hector watched in astonishment as Carmilla bristled. If this was still a game, these two women should have been actresses in the theater. 

“Please, spare me your heartsick over this weak, mortal man whose purpose is to serve, because you know, sister,” Carmilla warned, her eyes narrowing dangerously, “my voice carries as much weight as yours. ‘Countess’ is just a title, dear, little Arleigh. I’ve been the one parading through the fucking snow with the bulk of our army and they will listen to me.” 

Hector watched, horrified and fascinated by the exchange. Carmilla looked genuinely angry with her lips curled into an ugly snarl-she never did that unless she was really pissed. He watched as the other mysterious vampire who perhaps he trusted even less than Carmilla, Arleigh, smooth her features into total, unreadable neutrality. It was unnerving. 

He then watched as cold, gray eyes met frigid blue ones evenly. 

“Would you like to test that theory, Carmilla?” the Countess asked. 

Carmilla blanched, and Hector couldn’t help a swell of vengeful joy that swirled in his chest. He’d never had the opportunity to see her look so frazzled, and he’d be lying to say he wasn’t enjoying it, even if he could still barely breathe and thought he certainly couldn’t stand. 

An extended claw from the woman Arleigh pointed at two guards not far behind Hector, one of them still carrying a whip Hector knew was freshly stained with his blood. 

“Zachariah, Vahn,” Arleigh greeted, tone going calm, “it’s good to see both of you back in one piece. Would you mind doing me one favor?” 

“If you follow her orders over mine, I’ll cut your tiny pricks off and hang them as mooncatchers! You can move when I bloody well tell you!” Carmilla hissed, and the two guards looked conflicted. 

Hector had never heard Carmilla address them by their names either, and the thought filled him with a sick feeling of satisfaction. Sure, he’d been dragged through the snow and beaten within an inch of his life as a human man, but to think some endured Carmilla’s whims as a “powerful” creature of the night almost made him want to laugh. What excuse did they have for it? 

“Zachariah, Vahn,” Arleigh addressed, smooth and calm and otherwise ignoring Carmilla’s outburst, “restrain Carmilla. You and a capable troop will need to take her to the southernmost corner of our territory, and then leave her there.” 

“What?!” Fury burned red in Carmilla’s eyes, and it made Hector gasp to see it. He thought his heart was beating so hard as to be dangerous. 

“Carmilla will be exiled from our coven from this day until the last ones,” Arleigh continued, her voice faltering at the end as Hector saw her eyes well with moisture, and Hector thought numbly that he’d never seen a vampire cry before. He hadn’t thought them capable. 

“You are mad!” Carmilla hissed, slapping away Vahn’s hand when the burly man came forward with a look of joy to secure his former vampire mistress, “I have told you my plan to extend our territory for 800 miles! 800 miles of subjugated humans, Arleigh, with us as the rulers, and this pet beside us is merely a piece! We can lead this world into one of darkness! We are the fucking monsters! Why would you throw me away for… for nothing?”

‘This must be a trick, this has to be a trick, but why? Why?’ Hector’s mind raced. 

“I’ll always love you, that love is centuries deep, but this runs deeper than love,” Arleigh intoned, deathly serious with conviction through her silent tears, “This coven relies on me to lead them into the future, and I won’t see you destroy it for all of them. Your plan is madness-it will rip us apart. No one is meant to rule the world.” 

“You never understood leadership, Carmilla, because you never understood that ruling isn’t a game. The pieces on the board don’t move where you tell them, the pieces move where they want. If they don’t want to move for you, no matter your power… they won’t. Did you learn nothing from Dracula?” 

Oh god, oh god, oh god, what was happening? He couldn’t see straight and his vision was darkening around the edges, closing in around him. He knew he was heaving breaths, but none of them seemed to deliver any oxygen. It was too much, it was still just a game they were playing with him, it had to be, it had to be, it had to be… 

Hector only heard a few last words from the Countess before everything was overtaken by darkness. 

“Go to Lenore and ask her to bring provisions to Hector’s room! I will take him-” 

By the time Hector awoke, he felt like he was rocking back and forth, as if he were seated on a boat and gently moving with the waves. 

‘But I’ve never been on a boat,’ Hector thought, the silliness almost making him giggle as he woke. 

But… something really was not right. 

He wasn’t cold. He wasn’t in pain. 

Which meant he didn’t know where he was. 

Blue eyes shot open and Hector coughed, nearly falling forward onto tiled floor as panic took him. In the few seconds that followed, everything was unfamiliar. The floor, the… hallway he was moving down, somehow without walking, and then- 

Pink silk. With mortification, Hector looked up and saw the Countess looking down at him, her scarily gray eyes looking over his form. With a full-body flush he realized this shorter woman was carrying him through a hallway, seemingly unbothered by his flopping around. 

“Hector,” she began, with a frown on her face as she slowly placed the taller man back on his feet, “I… words cannot express to you how sorry I am. My si-Carmilla was never supposed to hurt you. I asked her to recruit you and to attempt Isaac if you denied. You-you were never supposed to be taken against your will-” 

“Why?” Hector demanded bitterly, unable to help the fire that sparked to life in his chest, “Why bother with any of this? Why put on an act? Why apologize? You’re going to ask the same of me regardless, aren’t you? You aren’t the first vampire to want my services-in fact, you’re the third. Let me guess: you want to rule the human race and need an army of night creatures, and when you fail just like everyone else, there will be another fucking vampire waiting to take your place who will come to my quarters and ‘recruit’ me again!” 

Arleigh’s expression wasn’t aggressive and her eyes weren’t angry. She wasn’t about to kill him, which gave Hector all the momentum he needed to keep going, to rid himself of at least a little piece of this hurt, and anger, and pain he’d had to hold onto in silence for so long. It was like a scalding floodgate had opened somewhere in his chest and he wanted to burn this vampire woman with it. 

“It’s sad! It’s fucking sad to watch what all of you do with your ‘power’ and your ‘eternity!’ You have the knowledge of the universe and you can’t stop your cruelty and pettiness long enough to enjoy it or use it for anything worth a damn! You’re all so fucking delusional you think your powers make you special, that your powers will save you in the end, but they won’t! They make you blind to reality!” 

“Power can’t save you in the end,” Hector stated again, numbly staring down at his hands. They didn’t used to be so scared. They used to bring back the dead, but now he wondered if that power could have still survived within him. The life he’d just felt come to him passed just as quickly. Now he only felt exhausted, and like he might feint soon from hunger. 

Hector noticed, perhaps for the first time since speaking, that Arleigh never interrupted him. She merely stood to the side and took the brunt of his anger, a crestfallen look shadowing every feature. He wasn’t sure if it made him feel better or somehow worse that his words looked as if they really did hurt her. 

“I’m…not sure what to say; ‘sorry’ won’t suffice, because you are right. You have suffered unbearable cruelty at the hands of my kin and though I can take the pain away, there is nothing I can do for the scars on your spirit. I’m sure you have nothing but hatred for us now, and rightfully so. I… I will do all that I can to restore our portal mirror so that you may leave here and go back home,” Arleigh whispered, looking so pained Hector almost felt a twinge in his heart. 

“For what it’s worth, I assure you I have no desire to take over the world or enslave the human race,” Arleigh sighed while a sad smile faltered on her lips, “but I suppose it is too late for that now. The room prepared for you is the last door on the left if you would like some rest, food, hot bath water, whatever you want. It’s all there. Hopefully you will not have to stay for long.” 

Hector remained silent, unsure what to do with himself or with his anger. It wasn’t making him feel any better to direct it at the Countess-she wasn’t necessarily the one he wanted to hear all of that. 

“Though it’s worth nothing,” Arleigh called over her shoulder as she made her retreat, “I am so, so sorry for what has happened.” 

Then, so softly Hector didn’t think she meant for him to hear, she whispered, “It should have been me that came for you.” 

As Arleigh’s pink dress swayed out of sight, he was struck by the thought that now he was alone in an unfamiliar vampire castle. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse, he just knew he was sick to death of being so afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want there to be a season 4 already, but in the meantime I'll write this.


	3. Introspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Purely Hector

The Angel of Resurrection 

Chapter 3-Introspective 

Hector didn’t quite believe that the Countess meant him no harm, but as his stomach growled loudly for the third time since walking down the hall to ‘his room,’ he saw no choice but to go where she had directed him. She had promised there would be food for him and he couldn’t see himself lasting much longer without it. 

When he got to the room, he was… stunned. The ornate handle opened up to the most luxurious room he had ever seen-even his general’s quarters at Dracula’s castle paled in comparison.

Hector’s eyes widened when he saw just how far back the back wall was and the bed-Suspended by golden chains! How was that possible?-that hung in front of it. Bookshelves that must hold all kinds of titles stretched across the right wall like a sea of pages, and the other wall held such finery he doubted he had the lifespan to wear all of the clothes on display from bulky wardrobes with the doors flung open. The tall ceiling made his steps echo as padded across the floor, mesmerized. 

Despite the unexpectedly wonderful things he did want to inspect more closely, his starvation pulled him to a beautifully carved table set with the most delicious looking ham he’d ever seen. Hector barely forced himself to sit down before eating. 

The honeyed ham slices were heaven and paired with the cheesy potato au gratin and roasted carrots, he could hardly stop himself from scarfing it down. He savored every delicious bite after months of eating stale bread Carmilla would throw to him in the snow. Washing down his meal with some wine, a wonderfully crisp fruit wine, he found he still had the self-respect not to lick his plate at the end though he was dearly tempted. 

‘Well, you’ve been fed. Perhaps a bath next? Arleigh said something about bath water,’ Hector mused, peeling the sticky tunic off his torso as he noticed his own scent. 

He hadn’t bathed in a month. His skin felt tacky with sweat and grime and he wondered how Arleigh managed to hold him as she did without wrinkling her nose. 

Arleigh. 

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that woman-she made him feel confused. 

With a frustrated groan, Hector flung the tunic off his torso, taking his pants and undergarments next. He wasn’t sure where to put them, so he threw them into the fireplace crackling by the table. It gave him satisfaction to watch the frayed edges burn. 

Looking around, he saw the bath was… in the middle of the floor. The tiles dipped to form stairs into bubbling hot water though he had no idea where the heat source was coming from. In Dracula’s castle there had been pipes that could transfer water around the castle, and one could control whether the water would come to them hot or cold. 

Hector stood on the first step being lapped at by the warm water-he wanted to adjust slowly after his tanned skin had gone pinkish in some places from being out in the cold. While he gave his toes time to warm up before taking the next step up to his calves, Hector inspected a shelf on wheels next to the bath. 

All kinds of oils and soaps labeled cleanly fit together on the shelf like Dracula’s meticulously organized potions, though instead of hazardous labels these advertised different scents like “pine” “lavender” and “cedar.” Taking the bottle of cedar and dumping some of its contents into the bath, the woodsy scent reminded Hector of his home in Rhodes. It was an unexpected comfort in such an unfamiliar place, and he was grateful for it as he sunk into the warm bubbles. 

He couldn’t help but wistfully acknowledge that Arleigh had been right about curing his pain-the whip marks that should have been bleeding, open gashes weren’t even scars crisscrossed over his back like the rest. Those open wounds and all of the other ones he had were closed, completely healed. Even the soreness in his legs and feet, and the constant aching in his neck and shoulders had disappeared. He could move without hurting and the novelty of it almost made him want to cry into his bathwater. 

Oh, and how he had missed hot water. Being Dracula’s forgemaster had certainly elevated his taste for the finer things in life once he’d moved away from his modest home. 

After the fearsome vampire king had taken him in, Hector had spent his first night in the castle entranced by how plush his red blankets were and wrapped his naked body in them just to feel how soft and warm they would be all over his skin. He had not been disappointed-up until that point he’d felt nothing like them. 

“At least the Countess here has taste, I suppose,” Hector murmured, splashing a hand through the water. 

But what did she want? It must be rather drastic, to call upon a devil forgemaster. 

She said she didn’t want to end of enslave the human race, but then what use were night creatures to her? 

‘Perhaps she is one of those ancient vampires who’s devolved into some strange hobbyist,’ Hector mused with a snort, scrubbing the suds over his skin, ‘like the ones who have been alive so long they fixate and obsess? Maybe the Countess wants a collection of night creatures, for a display.’ 

With a grimace, Hector acknowledged the image didn’t sit right with him. She did seem… different, somehow, than the other vampires in her demeanor. When she had held him, her hold had been comforting and strong despite the cold… 

Scrubbing his silver curls vigorously under the water, Hector scolded himself. 

‘You’re always too quick to trust! You can’t think about Arleigh that way. This could still be a trap. She could be luring you in to gain your trust, she could still be the enemy,’ he thought. 

The internal debate was exhausting. The thought of curling up in the thick, azure blankets and snow leopard skin throws made him want to moan. Giving himself one more thorough once-over with the cedar suds, Hector deemed himself clean-he was much too tired to bother sorting through his wardrobe for clothes. 

Crossing the floor and drying off with a fluffy towel, Hector saw something out of the corner of his eye that made him stop and stare at it. 

There, on a desk, were little night creature figurines made out of… was that porcelain? There appeared to be decorative little hammers beside them. 

A tiny smile refused to budge from Hector’s lips as he turned from the desk and walked the rest of the distance to the bed. 

‘And this is all real gold,’ Hector pondered, feeling the chains leading to the ceiling with awe. It didn’t take much effort to hoist himself onto the suspended bed once he felt dry enough. He was impressed to find the suspension didn’t make the bed sway much, either. 

There on his pillow were four handwritten notes. He picked up each one and read them in turn, his mind roiling as he did so. 

-Welcome to the castle, human boy. -Striga 

-I look forward to working with a skilled forgemaster such as yourself. -Morana

-Hector, I have wanted to meet you for such a long time! We’ll have so many things to do together! -Lenore

Hector,   
I am fascinated to hear about your life and your craft. I admit with some embarrassment I have been eagerly anticipating your arrival since I heard about the man who breathed life into animals before he took up his hammer to night creatures. If you are awake the morning after your arrival, I would be happy to walk with you in the daylight as I understand you have not seen the sun for quite some time. Please let me know if there is anything you need. You are a welcome guest here and may do what you wish.   
Best regards,   
-Countess Arleigh 

As he rolled across the plush sheets, naked and smiling and feeling timid hope bloom deep inside him, a voice roiled against him loud in his mind. 

‘You fool! You fool! You fool!’ it said, ‘You will suffer so badly at her hands! You are falling for her tricks!’ 

Hector ignored it. He began to giggle, stroking the plush pillows until his laughter turned hysterical and then to incredulous, delirious tears.

How had he made it away from Carmilla alive? How had the torture not killed him? How was he… here? What was here? 

He just wanted to feel safe. He just wanted to feel secure and he hated Arleigh for giving him that after training himself to ignore his need for it. 

Hector saw the moon through the window and he knew he wanted to talk to the Countess tomorrow, though he couldn’t guarantee he’d be awake.


	4. Watch the Sun Come Up

The Angel of Resurrection 

Chapter 4- Watch the Sun Come Up 

Countess Arleigh had not really been expecting Hector to come see her the next morning. Instead, she’d resigned herself to transporting him away from this castle as quickly as she was able, as it only seemed fair given the amount he had suffered. Of course he would want to go home. 

Guilt still weighed like a stone in Arleigh’s belly-dammit all! Why hadn’t she gone for him instead of Carmilla? He would traveled here in luxury, he wouldn’t have walked a step, he would have been warm for fuck’s sake-

When she had healed him, she’d seen a lot of his scars. A lot of them looked recent and the thought made her recoil. 

What he’d said to her in the hallway had jostled her, too. It wasn’t just that normally no one spoke to her in such a way-she wasn’t so pompous as to be bothered by that, especially given the circumstances-it was the burning rage in Hector’s voice. That voice was forged from pain. It killed her to think of how his otherwise lovely voice had gotten that way… 

‘Stop that,’ Arleigh scolded herself as she brought a teacup to her lips, ‘he is in no state to deal with your rampant fantasies.’ 

The sun was just beginning to rise over the snowy mountaintops, and the glistening orange and pink against the white looked like swirls of brightly colored candy. The glow cast an ethereal light across Arleigh’s skin and she watched as it enhanced the light, peach pink of her morning gown. She’d chosen a comfortable, form-fitting gown that was mostly simple with gold beading around the neckline. Matching pink pearls embroidered the cinched sleeves which fit comfortably against her wrists. 

Carmilla had given her flack when she’d picked out this gown, saying the sleeves were too tacky-

Arleigh gulped down her tea, swallowing a bitter taste in her mouth. She wished she had something just as warm but thicker, stronger, and more indulgent that would coat her fangs and make her vampiric senses tingle in delight. 

It was then that she noticed a fluttering heartbeat. It was so rare to hear in the castle she’d almost missed it simply by not listening for it, but the sound was unmistakable. And there was only one human dwelling in her castle. 

Turning, she saw the man who had been terrified of her in the snow, and then raging with anger in the hallway, give her a shy little smile from where he stood propped against a pillar. 

Arleigh stood dumbly entranced for a few moments with her teacup midway to her lips. 

The forgemaster had chosen to don a long, charcoal overcoat with black buttons, and with Arleigh’s preternatural vision she could see he’d layered a charming platinum necklace over top (which she thought perfectly complemented his silvery locks.) His black slacks and leather boots were top quality and fit his leanly muscled form to a T. 

Under the enhancement of the winter sunrise his eyes weren’t just blue, but a kaleidoscope of cerulean, teal, cyan, and lapis. She hadn’t noticed when she’d been so preoccupied with his healing and arrangements but now she wondered how she could have missed each shade fitting into the next like facets in a pale sapphire. 

He smelled like cedar, and Arleigh subconsciously inhaled a little deeper to take in the rest of his scent. 

Rushing blood, like a fine wine. Nervousness. Curiosity. Was that… excitement? 

Arleigh wanted to move closer, but she was so scared of frightening him after yesterday. His look of fear when he’d first seen her, when he’d stumbled backwards into the snow, had been haunting her consciousness much worse than his justified anger had. 

Instead of using her gifted speed to close the distance between them, Arleigh held up her hand in a wave and offered a smile of her own. She would wait for him to make it over to her instead. 

As she lifted her tea the rest of the way to meet her lips, Arleigh wondered how a man who’d worked to annihilate his species could have a smile so sweet. 

Then again, she supposes she isn’t one to judge that. She hadn’t become the Countess of Styria by sitting idle with clean hands. And… she knew monsters weren’t born out of happy times. 

‘What made you, devil forgemaster?’ she pondered. 

“You… you really can walk in the daylight,” Hector voiced with amazement once he was close enough, while still maintaining some distance between them. 

Looking down, he added a hasty, “Countess,” after a beat. 

Arleigh smiled, assuring, “Arleigh will do just fine, Hector.” 

Hector looked up again with the same smile from before. His tan skin looked divine under the winter sun, warming to bronze. 

Seeming to catch himself in his smile, Hector switched it to a frown and made his eyes frosty. Arleigh sighed and crossed her arms over the railing to peer at the mountaintops. 

“It is unusual for my species to enjoy the sunlight, but in truth I’ve been a witch longer than I’ve been a vampire, as I was born with magic and then turned into what I am later in my mortal life,” Arleigh explained, glancing over to shoulder to watch as Hector put pieces together, “the spell I put myself under to withstand this is exhaustive if I try and hold it for long periods of time, but it’s worth the energy. I’ve always loved the sun.” 

“It took over a century to perfect the daylight spell, and even now I can only use it on myself. I don’t know if I could teach it to other vampires when the sole source of their magic comes from Hell, like you, and to withstand the sun you must pull magic from the earth, like a witch,” Arleigh finished. 

Hector appeared to be mulling this information over, taking cautious steps to stand beside Arleigh and lean over the balcony as well. His presence felt soothing to the Countess, open and honest though guarded he may be. 

“I guess that explains why Dracula couldn’t. Odd, though. He had devices that could scan every corner of the world and he would sit by them and just stare for hours at a time. He would comb the globe for anomalies like you,” Hector said, his voice holding an undercurrent of accusation. 

“You can know of something’s existence and still lack the skills to pull it off,” Arleigh voiced, going for mirth but stopping her smile when Hector’s eyes looked hard. 

He looked out at the snowy mountains as he asked, “And that’s why you wanted me here? To do what Dracula couldn’t?” 

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Arleigh objected, shaking her head, “In fact, I wish to do the opposite.” 

Hector’s face scrunched in confusion, “You wish to…? Honestly, I can’t imagine what you want. Or why. Vampires want forgemasters for one reason: an army.” 

“I do want an army of night creatures,” Arleigh said, “who will kill all of your other night creatures, and Isaac’s, who are still acting in the interest of Dracula’s plans.” 

“Why?” Hector blanched, shaking his head incredulously, “that doesn’t even make a little sense.” 

“A lion is the top predator of the Savannah, but the lions still do not want the Savannah to be destroyed. If all the gazelles and wildebeest are gone, what will they have to eat? If the watering holes fill with muck, what will they drink? If the grass dies, where will they lie down? Destroying their habitat is suicide, which is why they take what they need and leave the rest alone. They don’t kill the gazelles when they are not hungry-do you understand what I’m saying? Dracula’s plan was madness. It never had a tangible plan for the ending and yet still he is reigning over this world even in death-as much as I hate to get involved, I won’t sit around idle with the power I have and do nothing,” she explained, conviction ringing clear in her voice, but Hector looked conflicted about his. 

‘How could I blame him?’ 

Hector looked at her, as if trying to pull the secrets from her by looking into her eyes while looking lost himself. Arleigh sighed, giving him a small smile. 

“I promise you, Hector,” she said gently, reaching out a hand before thinking better of it and letting it drop to her side, “you don’t have to worry about any of this. No one is going to force this war to be your concern anymore-in fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about on the off-chance you still came to see me. I’ve made a mirror that works as a portal and it can transport the observer to wherever they want to go, but, um, well, it has been broken-”

While his eyes were still narrowed, he crossed his arms over his chest and now his voice held accusation as he inquired, “A magic mirror that not even Dracula could create is conveniently ‘broken?’” 

Arleigh nodded and said softly, “I’ll say it again, Hector, Dracula did not know all. I’ll fix it as soon as I can, and then it can take you back to your home in a place called… ‘Rhodes,’ I believe?” 

“Rhodes,” Hector whispered it reverently, and Arleigh watched mixed emotions that one word brought dance across his face, “I haven’t been home in so long.” 

“Do you miss it?” Arleigh asked, melancholy. 

Hector looked torn, his brow furrowing as he answered, “I miss my animals, but then again I suppose they can’t starve to death.” 

Arleigh’s lips quirked up and she made a mental note to ask Hector about the animals that couldn’t starve, but she felt she had a pretty good idea as to what the forgemaster meant by that. 

“Once the mirror is fixed, you can picture your home in Rhodes and step into it as easily as if the mirror were your front door. You aren’t my prisoner, Hector,” Arleigh said with a grimace, “I know you’ve been given the wrong impression about that. I’ll help you leave as soon as I can.” 

Hector looked up sharply again and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“You’re saying I could walk out of this palace and you wouldn’t try and stop me?” Hector asked, his voice laced with skepticism. 

Arleigh smiled sympathetically and answered, “No, I wouldn’t. But I would have to trail behind you until you either feinted, encountered arctic predators, caught hypothermia, dehydrated, or fell down a mountainside so I could save you in time.” 

Hector’s pinched features were losing their sharpness in Arleigh’s explanation. Realization looked to dawn in his eyes as he peered out over the white mountains. He would die on his own. Nearly instantly. 

Arleigh continued, “Then, of course, I would have to bring you back here for the proper medical equipment, nourishment, filtered water…” 

Upon seeing Hector’s sagging shoulders, she threw him a teasing smile and tried to lighten his features again by saying, “and the coat you’re wearing is more decorative than practical, not that it doesn’t look lovely on you. I’d have to insist you at least put on a thick fur before retreating into 800 miles of wasteland.” 

Hector was blushing. 

Arleigh noticed it wasn’t so much of a vibrant hue coloring his cheeks (though a faint rosy glow did light up from under his tanned skin,) but his rushing blood became so much louder in his veins. She could hear his heart pumping hard and fast a second after the phrase ‘looks lovely on you’ left her mouth. 

‘He will be the death of me,’ Arleigh thought with an inward, guilty groan at how positively delicious Hector looked when he blushed. 

‘Stop it, stop it! You ass! He is in pain!’ 

“It looks… lovely on me?” Hector managed to get out, not meeting with Arleigh’s silvery gaze. 

‘Oh, fuck me,’ Arleigh thought in both the metaphorical and literal sense. 

“Hector, let’s not stand here and pretend no one has told you you’re handsome,” Arleigh snorted in a very un-Countess-like fashion. To her amazement, her words drew the same reaction as before, but stronger. 

Hector was positively rosy. 

“Well, perhaps you are right,” the forgemaster said around a cough, “maybe I would die immediately. I’ll-I’ll stay here for the time being, I suppose. I’m not particularly interested in freezing my balls off night after night again.” 

Arleigh laughed at Hector’s unexpected crudeness, almost spilling her tea. The sound looked to lighten his mood, too, and he met her eyes with the most happiness she’d seen in him since he’d gotten there. It didn’t quite reach all of his eyes, but he didn’t look so broken. He could still smile. It was a start. 

“Sorry, again, and you should know Carmilla has been dealt with,” Arleigh started, noticing the shudder that went through Hector’s shoulders at the mere mention of her name, “What you experienced, with Carmilla, has not been an isolated incident. She… she hasn’t been herself in quite some time, at least these past few decades. My sisters and I wanted to ignore it, but then after we saw the needless cruelty she put you through-she’s different now. Wrong. Time has twisted her, I think, and I have exiled her.” 

Arleigh noted Hector’s silence, and the way his eyes had glazed over as if lost in thought. They hardened, now, sapphire into rough diamond. 

“I don’t believe it,” he growled, shaking his head and backing away from Arleigh, “you’ve known her for centuries-you wouldn’t do that.” 

Arleigh kept perfectly calm, feeling another wave of sympathy for whatever unknown horror her once-sister had wrought upon the man in front of her. She could only imagine. 

“The proof will be in her absence,” Arleigh vowed, staying in place and letting him have the space she thought he probably needed, “Turn the castle upside down, Hector. You may go wherever you like. You won’t find her, and no one in this castle is going to hurt you.” 

“You’re lying,” he breathed, clutching his arms over his torso as if to protect himself though his voice had none of the bite from earlier, “you’re lying.” 

“If Carmilla was still here, do you think she would have left you alone?” Arleigh asked, keeping her tone gentle. 

Hector was quiet. He looked at his hands like he had in the hallway, lost. 

“You’re a vampire,” he said simply, “vampires are liars.” 

“I am a witch first. Always,” Arleigh felt the truth of her words as she spoke. As if to emphasis this, she looked over at the sun which had risen high above the mountains now, letting it bathe her face in sunlight. It’s glow across the snow was white, almost blinding. 

“If… if you aren’t lying and Carmilla is really and truly gone,” Hector intoned quietly before he caught up with the meaning of his own words and a brightness came over his features once again as he repeated the phrase, savoring its meaning, “if Carmilla is really gone… then, maybe I, maybe that changes things.” 

Arleigh tilted her head and inquired, “Changes things how?” 

She wouldn’t dare hope. This mortal man was… not what she expected. 

He was better. He was still kind, somehow. He had the gift of resurrection and the essence of life poured into the energy around him. His smile, when he would give it, was warm and genuine. 

Though she still had much to learn about the forgemaster, Arleigh admired his resilience and strength. He wasn’t a pushover. He wasn’t weak. He wouldn’t have survived if he was. 

It was just that he was caring, and perhaps too trusting. 

But if Hector would place his trust in her, Arleigh knew if wouldn’t be another choice that haunted him. If he would let her, she wouldn’t allow anything like Carmilla to hurt him so badly again. 

‘If anything, he needs a break. Gods, he deserves one,’ the Countess thought. 

“I don’t trust you,” Hector warned, snapping Arleigh back to the present. 

‘Of course,’ she thought with an inward grimace, but didn’t want it to show on her face. 

With a teasingly sly smile, she poked one fang over her lip to form a silly indent. Hector’s face twitched in an effort to keep it straight. 

“Tell me, whatever it is,” she said, more serious. 

The forgemaster sighed, his shoulders rising and falling with the action. The breath in his lungs was hot and formed puffy clouds. 

“I just mean I have a lot to think over,” he murmured, glancing to the side. 

“Of course,” Arleigh said, straightening, “I’m sure you’re still exhausted. Would you like me to have breakfast sent to your room?” 

She decided he’d probably had enough-he’d been through a lot of shock in the past day and even more trauma before that. 

“No, thank you, I would just like some more rest. The bed is, well, heavenly,” he confessed, blushing again for reasons unknown to Arleigh (though she’d never complain about hearing the rush of his blood, which was quickly becoming something she enjoyed,) “and I haven’t slept so good in ages.” 

“I will be sure to tell Lenore-she was worried you wouldn’t like it,” Arleigh chuckled, tossing the rest of her tea that had gone cold off the balcony behind her shoulder. 

Hector’s incredulous laugh at the silly action warmed her again. 

‘You are the fool everyone tells you you are!’ Hector’s thoughts raged at him when he couldn’t keep a smile from creeping onto his face every time he thought about… all of it. 

He had only slept a few hours before the morning sun had pulled him to consciousness from the circular window above his bed. For a while after he woke, he simply basked in the light he hadn’t seen for so long and stared in awe as the contours of his room were lifted from darkness. 

After he’d pulled himself from the luxury of laying on silk sheets cuddled under layers of plushy blankets and animal furs, he’d pulled himself to get dressed, making the choice with shaking fingers to go seek out the Countess for himself. 

‘It has to be some kind of story she spun, maybe she wants a night creature army to rule the world, maybe she was lying about wanting to stop Dracula’s hordes with hordes in retaliation,’ he thought, but when he remembered the look in her eyes, like she was showing him all the cards in her hand, it made their meaning hard to believe. 

She was a vampire who loved the light! What had ever heard of such a thing? She was open with him, caring in her words and in her actions, calm when he felt like a livewire and said things that might have gotten himself killed had he said them to Carmilla. 

‘She said I was handsome… she told me I was handsome, and I looked lovely-goddamn you!’

Sure, Hector thought he had a nice physique. He was decently tall (though dwarfed by Dracula, as was everyone else,) and muscled though he wasn’t bulky. Though… he wasn’t usually approached by women, and when he’d tried to make advances, he’d been driven away by frightened parents or passersby that had heard the stories. It didn’t do much for his confidence. Besides, that was long ago before he chose to live apart from people. 

And then, there was the issue that he was still a virgin. 

Besides that, he hadn’t even been kissed. 

Errant fantasies of what Arleigh’s lips might feel like, how soft they would be with just the prick of her fangs that maybe wasn’t so scary after all flitted around Hector’s mind before he could catch them all. 

She was kind to him, dammit! She helped him when he was so scared he couldn’t fucking breathe! He just wanted a fucking break! He just didn’t want to be in so much pain, he just wanted-he just wanted-

Hector groaned, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

He wanted to go to sleep.

Using the lever to close the window on the ceiling, his room was awash in darkness once again. For the first time in too long, Hector wasn’t frightened by what might be in it, but then that thought scared him more. 

He hated himself for it. He hated himself for the simple fact that he liked Countess Arleigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think of their dynamic! More on the way!


	5. Facets of a Sapphire

The Angel of Resurrection 

Chapter 5- Facets of a Sapphire 

Hector was slowly roused to consciousness, stretching underneath blue blankets and black-and-white spotted throws that felt familiar and comforting against his skin. Blinking his eyes open, he took in little details of his room: the high, light wood ceilings that he could guess might be oak. The sturdy, golden chains supporting his bed that hung like a chandelier. The smell of cedar that permeated his bed from the oils he’d used in his bath last night. 

He hummed in contentment. 

He knew he had grown too comfortable far too fast, and in some moments that thought would scare him. He half-expected Countess Arleigh or one of her vampiric sisters to appear around a corridor or materialize out of the dark to reveal their true, malicious intentions. 

But it never happened. And as more and more time passed, Hector had stopped looking over his shoulder for Carmilla. He stopped flinching whenever a vampire was near. He had stopped reminding himself to go frigid when a warm smile would spread across his face after Arleigh… did anything, really. He loved spending time with the calm, enigmatic, free-spirited, vampire-witch. 

He roused himself from sleep slowly, in no rush, and thought of the Countess as he strutted, naked with a sleepy yawn, to the huge, mahogany storage filled with his favorite boots. 

He decided on a pair he’d never worn before. These were gray with white fur on the inside, sure to make each step feel like he was walking on fluffy blankets. He smiled lazily at the thought, taking a few steps and sighing happily, the moment reminding him of something Arleigh had said last week, the first time he’d gone into her private study… 

Just last week Hector had paced down the hallway marked with pink candles reminding him of torches, wanting more answers to burning questions that he hadn’t wanted to press his luck with and ask.

Then it occurred to the forgemaster that Arleigh could probably hear his pacing steps and frantically beating heart through the door. 

‘She could hear me cough all the way upstairs, for all I know,’ Hector thought with an inward groan, trying to get his breathing to fall back into a steadier pace. 

He wrapped his knuckles tentatively against the door and called, “Arleigh? Are you… are you busy right now?” 

“No, no, come in,” had been her hasty answer, followed by a crashing sound that made Hector’s pulse jump. 

‘Are you sure?’ he almost wanted to ask with a snort but decided to turn the knob anyways. 

What he found was a mix of everything he’d been expecting and nothing like he’d expected at all. 

“Hector, watch your step! Centuries of working in close quarters doesn’t make one any less clumsy, evidently,” Arleigh chuckled, running a hand through her black curls while surveying the mess on the ground. 

Hector wasn’t looking at the mess. 

Arleigh’s study was the essence of her. Pink candles like those in the hallway burned brightly on the walls, throwing light to the intricately carved, white bookshelves and desk. Rose quartz spheres and figurines littered the room, which was large yet cramped with so many miscellaneous items in it. 

There were books stacked up every way they possibly could be, and many items Hector couldn’t place but he’d bet had to do with magic were interspersed amongst piles and piles of handwritten notes. 

‘This room is nothing short of a disaster,’ Hector thought with a smile tugging at his lips.

Tall, pink tulips stood proudly in their pots on her desk, in the windowsill, and even on the floor. They gave off a scent Hector had come to associate with Arleigh, but had never been able to place other than generally ‘floral.’ He’d never had to know much about flowers, but now that he knew the source of Arleigh’s surrounding scent was tulips he wanted to bury his nose in one and inhale deeply. 

“I’m kind of embarrassed about it now, but hardly anyone comes in here, which is why I usually leave things as is,” Arleigh admitted, scanning her study as if just then noticing the general state of the room. 

It made Hector chuckle and say, “Dracula was always a neat-freak, if a speck was out of place he would know and Isaac would tell you about it.” 

“Men of science need order,” Arleigh sniffed, turning her nose up at the sentiment, “but magic needs chaos-would you care for some tea? You can sit, if you like.” 

Hector clasped his fingers together nervously in his lap. He looked up to watch Arleigh pour herself a steaming cup of tea from a silver kettle that had been balancing precariously on the edge of a cabinet. 

Now that he was here, he wasn’t quite sure how to start so he blurted, “I’ve… only ever seen you drink tea. Or wine. Or…”

Arleigh merely smiled, teasingly showing her fangs and asked, “You want to know if I eat food like the others?” 

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Hector insisted, feeling uncomfortably warm in his wool collar. Or was it her look? 

“You’re fine,” Arleigh waved away, bringing the tea to her lips to take a tentative sip before continuing, “but to answer your question, no, I don’t eat. I lost the taste for it a couple centuries ago. My only food source comes from blood, but I do still enjoy drinking some human beverages, in the non-literal sense.” 

Hector blanched at that, choking around a swallow. 

“Sorry, I suppose that was a bad joke,” Arleigh grimaced. 

“No, it’s fine, just unexpected,” Hector spluttered, “I-I just never imagined a Countess cracking a joke.” 

“And how do you suppose a Countess would act?” Arleigh challenged, though there was no bite to it.

“Like Dracula, I guess,” he said after a beat, “but better looking.” 

She snorted at that, shaking her head and making Hector smile. For the first time since he’d known her, Hector noticed how much shorter Arleigh was compared to him. She barely came up to his chest. It almost made him want to laugh, but it made him feel other things, too. 

With that thought, he shook his head and reoriented back to the present and his task at hand. He was almost finished getting dressed for the day, but he was missing a few crucial touches. 

Hector found that he had a streak of vanity in him, after all, and it was immensely satisfying to look over his reflection once he’d donned pieces of jewelry from his now-vast collection. 

It had embarrassed him, at first, when he’d put on the white platinum chain the first morning he’d gone to speak with the Countess, and he thought perhaps it looked silly on him. He’d never been a jewelry-wearing man before. Maybe it wouldn’t look good on him, or maybe things like that only looked good on people like Arleigh… 

He realized he had been wrong. 

He admitted it helped that Arleigh told him as much, too. 

“I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that sapphires bring out your eyes, but my god, Hector, that looks stunning on you,” she’d said once, in passing while she was on her way to Striga’s war quarters, making his skin flush all over. 

He’d spent the night replaying that phrase, feeling immensely ridiculous doing so. All the same, it felt nice. It felt especially nice that someone so beautiful was acknowledging him in a way no one else had, acknowledging him as a man rather than a forgemaster… 

The memory made him feel bold that morning as he looked himself over in a full-length mirror. Instead of one, thin chain he decided to layer two-one with black diamonds woven around the length of a gold chain and another, longer gold one with a dark blue sapphire pendant. Normally he chose platinum to go nicely with his hair, but the gold looked warm against his skin. Donning a few rings, gilded bands with diamonds and lapis lazuli, he couldn’t deny they made him smile at his reflection. 

‘Who knew I’d care about something so lifeless?’ Hector thought, wanting to laugh at himself as he strode downstairs to breakfast. 

Hector was surprised and disappointed to see Arleigh wasn’t downstairs for breakfast when she usually was. The sun had fully set an hour or so ago, and she always seemed to beat Hector to the dining hall in the early night. It was unusual for him to walk down the grand staircase and not see her silver eyes perk up with her welcoming smile. 

However, Lenore and Striga were present, seated in their usual arrangement, though Morana was absent, as well. 

Hector had mixed feelings about the rest of the women Arleigh called her “sisters.” They hadn’t made a move to hurt him, and yet he couldn’t help but be wary of Striga’s imposing form and unapologetically violent war jokes. Moranne was unreadable, but she did seem kind to him. Hector thought she was probably the most like Arleigh.

Then there was Lenore, the youngest. It wasn’t that Hector didn’t like her, per say, but there was something about her he found unsettling. It was as if she were too interested in what made him tick as a human rather than a curiosity in getting to know him. 

‘Typical vampire,’ he’d thought of her once, but then the thought made him feel guilty. 

“Hector!” the youngest vampiress called, waving him over while her red eyes gleamed, “Come sit, we were just discussing necromancy if you’d like to help settle a debate.” 

Descending the stairs, the smell of eggs benedict with hollandaise sauce flooded Hector’s senses, making his mouth water. Just last week he’d discovered what “eggs benedict” was and decided it was one of his favorite breakfast foods. 

“I perform necromancy, yes, but I’ve never been clear about the mechanics,” Hector admitted, taking his usual seat across from Arleigh’s empty one, “honestly, I learned how to do it myself by accident.” 

“Aren’t you a lucky boy, then,” Striga teased, addressing him for the first time with a smirk. 

‘Lucky?’ Hector wanted to ask, incredulous. 

But… wasn’t he? Not for that nightmare named Carmilla, but what would he be if not a forgemaster? An ordinary human man who worked an honest job in some shithole until he caught malaria and died? 

Lenore startled him out of his internal debate when she waved Striga away and said, “Don’t listen to that one-she’s always a pest when Morana is away. We were wondering what you would say to a theoretical dilemma.” 

“It’s a stupid question,” Striga snorted, but Hector watched as Lenore pointedly ignored her. 

Intrigued, he sat up straighter, taking a bite of the egg spilling delicious yolk into his English muffin. 

“I’ll answer you if I can,” he offered once he’d swallowed. 

Lenore brightened and started, “We know to make night creatures you call back a soul from Hell to reanimate a new body, but can you tell which soul you’re calling back? If you didn’t like the soul you got, could you trade it for a different one?” 

“Didn’t like it?” Hector asked, his face scrunching, “That’s never been an issue before. All of my night creatures listen to me, and they’re gentle once they regain their sense in their new body. Some rare ones can even talk-I’ve never tried what you’re asking, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work that way.” 

“So, you can’t pick the soul, then?” Striga affirmed, glancing at Lenore with a gloating smile. 

“Well… no. If it’s possible, I’ve never tried it. I like all of my night creatures,” Hector admitted, a sad smile on his lips as he thought about ones he’d spent a lot of time with in his old forge, “and the soul that comes from Hell is always random.” 

Lenore looked rather sour at that as Striga laughed heartily, her broad shoulders rising and falling with the action. 

“She wanted to know what you would do if you ever accidently called Dracula’s soul into a night creature,” Striga guffawed, “but it sounds like you would give him a cuddle and pat his head. You are soft, human boy.” 

“So I’m often told,” Hector grunted, making Striga snicker again, “but if I were to miraculously notice Dracula’s soul reincarnated into a night creature, I could kill him while he’s disoriented and try reanimation again with a new soul.”

“Always a roundabout, then,” Lenore mused, twining a red curl around her finger as she spoke. She’d leaned in closer to Hector, and he caught himself unconsciously leaning backwards. 

Lenore’s big, red eyes always looked like they were hiding something, and the twist of her fanged smile in her young-looking face was an ironic contradiction. Hector didn’t understand her fixation with him-just that when she looked at him it felt different from when Arleigh did it. He liked it when Arleigh did it. 

As if he had summoned her by force of will, Hector felt immense relief when a rustling at the top of the stairs revealed a frazzled Countess with Morana in tow. 

“Hector! I’m glad I could catch you while you’re still here,” Arleigh called, descending the stairs in a rush, “there is something very important we must discuss.” 

Though her words made his heart jump, the forgemaster couldn’t help but notice the way Arleigh’s ballgown (and who took the time to wear a ballgown to breakfast?) cinched her waist and hugged her curves. The white fabric accentuated with pink lace danced gracefully around her heels as she advanced, and an intrusive thought told Hector he’d like to lift the dainty edges and peer underneath… 

“What is it?” he asked, shaking his head to rid himself of the fantasy. 

“Our witch has finally fixed the mirror that will take you back to Rhodes,” Morana informed, reminding the man of her presence. 

The other vampires kept talking, but Hector barely heard them. 

Rhodes. He was… going home? Now? 

“The one you broke?” Striga guffawed as she pointed a clawed finger at Morana, “When we were playing Jesus Wedding?”

“You’re a brute,” Morana seethed, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed. 

“You adore me,” Striga insisted. 

“You… you fixed the mirror?” Hector gulped, trying to control the expressions doubtlessly playing across his face. 

Everything was moving too fast! He was supposed to join Arleigh in her study to look over alchemic books she’d said might be useful for forging. They were going to try making cookies tonight like Arleigh had made when she was younger even though she didn’t want to eat them.

“He’s leaving already?” Lenore pouted, to which Arleigh sighed. 

“Yes, it is done,” Arleigh said, an unreadable look fixed stubbornly on her face as she directed her attention to the mortal man, “You may now return home as quickly as you like…” 

Hector watched her mouth moving, the gloss on her lips coming together and separating hypnotically, but he couldn’t listen past the roar of his own mind.

Back to worrying if someone would find him and torch his house down, back to having a witty thought come to him just to share it out loud to himself since no one was ever around to hear him, back to reading stories for a semblance of like-minded companionship… 

“You may take whatever you want with you, you can have…” he heard Arleigh continue. 

No, no, no, NO! He didn’t want to go back to Rhodes, back to being not-quite-alone but with companions that couldn’t talk back to him, back to struggling to survive, back to being hated, back to being an ordinary human man… 

An ordinary human man would never get the chance to speak to Countess Arleigh ever again. 

“I don’t want to leave,” he spoke suddenly, feeling the conviction in his words as he felt he’d never voiced anything truer in his life. 

He was met with stunned silence, which is not exactly what he had expected. 

“I, I mean,” he backtracked quickly, trying to decipher the vampires’ faces, “I want to hear more about your plans to stop Dracu-my hordes, and Isaac’s, that is if you are still interested in having a forgemaster on your side and you wouldn’t mind-” 

“You would stay after what Carmilla has done? Hector, I love having you here in our castle, but I couldn’t possibly expect you to work as a forgemaster after all of the wrongs that have been done to you,” Arleigh interjected, blanketing the forgemaster’s fears in relief. 

“You are not Carmilla,” Hector said quietly, “and there are things that I’ve done that I need to fix.” 

“No,” Arleigh said, just as soft, “I am not. I hadn’t even thought to hope you would want to stay, but if that is the case, you are welcome here. If you’re truly interested in raising a night horde to stop the first-” 

“I am,” Hector assured. 

Arleigh smiled, her fangs peeking past her lips as she said, “then you should sit in our war council tonight that we may plan where we’d like to direct our armies. We have some ideas of our own, but I’ll be interested to see what you advise.” 

“I knew you’d want to stay with us, Hector,” Lenore grinned, but Hector was still looking at Arleigh. 

He was staying. He was going to get to make a new home for himself, one where he didn’t have to spend every waking minute looking over his shoulder. Warmth bloomed in his chest at the revelation and spilled over on to his face in a wide smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Hector's decided to stay!


	6. To be a Vampire

The Angel of Resurrection 

Chapter 6- To be a Vampire 

To say Arleigh was stunned would be an understatement. 

When she’d pieced together the last shard of the mirror that morning with a few errant tears running down her face, she knew she was doing what was best. 

Of course, it hurt her to think of the mortal man she’d gotten horrendously attached to over the last two weeks (and it had only been two weeks! Only 14 days, she’d remind herself) leaving now. 

He’d stopped flinching when she was near and had started smiling. His blue eyes held warmth and softness and unshakeable compassion-never mind that they were beautiful. He was smart, pointing out alchemic theories even she hadn’t gotten around to yet, and he was so gentle it was almost difficult to imagine him as someone meandering through Dracula’s halls or calling back the dead. But at the same time, given his strength and his talent, it was even more difficult to picture him as someone living an ordinary life. 

She could still hear him blush whenever she’d give him a compliment. 

Her chest ached as she had descended the staircase ready to give Hector the news of his departure, but then he had done yet another thing to surprise her. Arleigh had been at a loss for words at first, sure she’d heard him wrong or that he’d misspoken, but… 

He… really wanted to stay. He didn’t hate it here, even though trees and grass and flowers didn’t grow. Even though Carmilla had put him through hell and though the wounds were gone, the scars on his heart were barely sealed over. 

Arleigh felt the tight constrictions on her heart loosen as he spoke and made it clear he not only wanted to stay, but he wanted to help Arleigh and her sisters in their cause. In truth, it wouldn’t have mattered much to Arleigh if he hadn’t, because they always could have hired vampiric mercenaries to try and hunt the night hordes, and Hector could have stayed anyway-original plan be damned. 

But she saw truth in his eyes when he said he did want to help, and she believed in what she saw there. Hector was many things, many goods things and some twisted things, too, but he was not a liar. 

And though all of this made Arleigh want to dance with elation, she wouldn’t feel right until one last piece was settled into place. 

“Hector,” she said, loving the way his name felt when she spoke it, as if it were an integral and beautiful word in a spell, “though I am beyond pleased you chose to stay with us, I would still like to show you the mirror in my study.”

Confusion wrinkled Hector’s brow as he asked, “Why? I… I won’t be using it, unless you want me to.” 

“No,” Arleigh assured too quickly, and she was sure if she had blood, she’d blush red, “nothing like that. I want to show you that you are not a prisoner here. I’m going to give you the mirror, so you may leave whenever you wish and know that you are never trapped here. Even if you don’t want it now, it’s important to me that you have it.” 

Hector’s eyes widened and then glistened over. Arleigh watched as his head dropped back to his half-eaten breakfast, but he nodded.

“Alright,” he rasped, and from the extra smell of salt Arleigh could tell his eyes were welling. She wanted to wrap her arms around his shoulders and hold onto him, but squashed the thought down.

“The madness continues,” Striga mused, punctuating with a crunch of her bacon. 

“We are all,” Morana said, glancing pointedly at her lover, “happy to have you within our palace, Hector. I am sure you will find your stay most satisfactory.” 

Arleigh didn’t miss the minute look of mischief Morana had flashed to her at the word “mischief,” and Arleigh showed her fangs in warning. The Countess was confident Morana had some idea of her recent feelings towards the newest resident in their castle, but she didn’t want that revealed this second. She wasn’t ready, and gods, Hector wasn’t either. 

That didn’t mean she couldn’t… cheer him up a little, right? 

“And you should know, Hector,” Arleigh addressed, advancing further towards the forgemaster who looked up with his eyes reddened around the edges, “you look sinful in gold. Come to me after you’ve finished breakfast.” 

The resounding rush of blood through his veins and his surprised laugh were well worth the look of disgust from Striga. 

“The mirror is next to shelves about… geological composition, I think,” Hector explained, and then chuckled, “where it will get about as much use as those books.” 

“But you understand why I want you to have it? I don’t want you to feel trapped in Styria,” Arleigh insisted as the two rounded a corner along the left wing. 

Arleigh listened to the steady pulse in Hector’s veins, an anchoring sound she had quickly gotten used to hearing. Her steps fell unconsciously to the rhythm of it while she listened closely for endearing flutters or a quick rise in tempo. 

Not that she needed to-surely Hector was aware he was an open book. 

“I do,” he said quietly, nodding with a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“You should know the mirror works one-way. If you step through, you can’t come back to Styria the way you came-the portal disappears,” Arleigh warned.

“Noted. Then I will be careful not to trip into it,” Hector snorted. 

“This one’s my room, here,” she said, brushing her fingers over the door. 

“So close to the forge,” Hector breathed, and it was impossible for Arleigh not to hear the way his heart skipped. 

“Do you feel ready to wield your hammer again? It has been a long time since you’ve called a night creature into being,” Arleigh asked, stopping by her door to look at the mortal man. 

“Let’s just hope I still have the abilities I think I do,” Hector grimaced, staring down at his hands like he had the first day he and the Countess had met, making Arleigh’s dead heart clench. 

As Hector pushed open the heavy, granite doors to the-no, his-new forge, he felt anxiety and excitement so intermingled he couldn’t tell the two apart. 

It was thrilling to think of wielding his hammer again after spending so much time without it. Technically, he didn’t need it to use his ability, but he had fashioned it himself to amplify his power and ever since it had been like an extra limb. Losing it to Carmilla when she’d taken it had been as devastating as losing an arm, not that he’d given her the satisfaction of telling her as much or begging to have it back. 

But it was nerve-wracking, too. It had been a month and a half since he’d last created a night creature, and Arleigh was so close. Hector didn’t think forging was something one could forget or lose the ability to perform, but what if he was rusty? It would be a bitter embarrassment if for some reason he couldn’t do it, especially with the Countess watching him…

“My god,” Hector choked once they were inside, “Arleigh, this is… wow.” 

His old forge had been wonderful-a large, circular room with a sturdy table for him to work, plenty of space for his animals to wander, books on magic and science, and all the tools he’d needed. 

His new forge made the old look like poverty.

Damascus tiles in white, blue, and vibrant orange colored the walls and gave life to the expansive structure. Windows as tall as the church steeple-like ceiling let in the moonlight. The view of the snowy, Styrian mountains looked like a painted mural. 

Hector walked, awe-struck, to the enormous triangular table in the center of the room that rested on a sun-patterned rug. He recognized his hammer sitting at one of table’s points immediately, and upon getting closer he noted the alchemic symbols carved into the wood. 

“Well, I wanted you to have enough room to work. I’d be lying, too, if I said I wasn’t trying to outdo Dracula,” Arleigh offered, walking in step with him as he surveyed the room.

Hector nodded dumbly, saying, “Consider Dracula outdone.” 

There were shelves and shelves of books he didn’t have the lifespan to read, and metal tubs radiating cold that he couldn’t identify, yet. Surgical tools and other, more mechanical ones laid in open velvet boxes in racks beside the table. He noticed with delight there were even blue couches to rest on at the far side of the room, as it seemed to be a little-known fact forging was hard, manual work. 

“I thought I’d never see my hammer again,” Hector whispered, picking it off the table to feel the familiar weight in his hand, turning it over a couple of times, “I thought Carmilla had it and maybe she took it with her.” 

“No,” Arleigh answered, resting her hip on the table beside him, “she gave it to a guard to hold onto when you were…” 

Hector flinched, gripping the handle. 

“When you were being tortured,” Arleigh finished, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze. 

Hector thought if nothing else, it helped that she didn’t shy away from the truth or try and gloss it over as something else. Her eyes didn’t hold pity, but maybe something closer to understanding? They were angry, too, but that he understood well. 

‘Maybe she does understand,’ struck Hector over the head, ‘What do I know about her past beyond her being a witch and her studies?’ 

Before he could ask, the Countess was already walking away from him and he fought the urge to follow her. 

“I’ve kept some bodies in the coolers for you to practice on,” Arleigh said, going over to one of the metal bins Hector had looked at curiously before, “they’re enchanted to always go through a water cycle of snow, so they’ll preserve better this way.” 

“Just when I think it’s science, it turns out to be magic again,” Hector chuckled, smiling when Arleigh shot him a teasing grin, her fangs visible. 

“I’ve told you, Hector,” Arleigh admonished, flinging the body of a man over her shoulder as if it had been weightless, “you’re in the wrong castle for science.” 

“You do defy the laws of physics,” Hector said, watching the much shorter woman unceremoniously plop the man on the alchemic table. 

“The word ‘law’ implies it can be broken,” Arleigh declared, then noticed a spot of blood on her sleeve. Hector watched, bemused, as she used a nearby handkerchief to try to scrub it off and making a grunt of annoyance when it held stubbornly to the white. 

“Squeamish?” He quipped, breaking into an even wider, teasing grin when she shot him a look. 

Still chuckling, Hector held the hammer firmly, readying himself to summon another night creature. Of course, it was anxiety-inducing with Arleigh next to him, watching him, but it was exciting, too. 

Every night creature had their own personality, and every one that Hector made had been special to him. He thought they were beautiful creations, and to this day and maybe every day thereafter never fully understood why the rest of his species save for one didn’t think so. They were violent, but he thought no more violent than most anyone else he’d encountered. 

In his thoughts, Hector looked at the once-man on the table who would soon be transformed into something else, something alive. He turned the man’s face over, but what he saw there stunned him. 

In hindsight, he thought it was very stupid of him to be stunned. 

Two puncture holes so delicate and small he would have missed them leaked tiny rivers of blood down the man’s neck, the wounds looking like smeared wax seals. 

‘Arleigh must have… fed from him, then,’ Hector thought, and his own lack of fear shocked him. 

Once he’d recovered from his initial revelation, it wasn’t horror or disgust that filled him upon his discovery, but an odd kind of heat and also compressing weight in his chest. Was that… jealousy? 

‘God, I’m fucked up,’ Hector wanted to groan, ‘what would Arleigh think if she knew I was jealous of her dinner?’ 

“I am still a vampire, Hector,” Arleigh said, her tone hesitant and her black curls forming a curtain over her face. 

Hector’s eyes widened and he realized she must have read him wrong. 

She didn’t look hurt, just guarded, but surely she understood she was not the only one who wasn’t destined for heaven.

And it wasn’t as if Hector was unaware of her nature-the woman rarely drank anything that wasn’t blood. Even if her demeanor was not overly pretentious, he could hardly picture her drinking the pig blood Dracula would insist on. 

No, she was a vampire who enjoyed being a vampire. But, he was a forgemaster who enjoyed his work, too, and he wouldn’t flinch from her. He didn’t want to be afraid of her and more than that he didn’t want her to think he was afraid, because then she’d guard more of herself and Hector wanted her to reveal. 

“And I’m hardly a saint,” he said quickly, wanting to lift the cloud of apprehension from her face. 

To his relief, her expression brightened a little. 

“I didn’t expect all of your blood to come from imported vials, you know,” Hector added, “I never thought about it much, but it, it really doesn’t bother me, given my last assignment.” 

Arleigh’s silver eyes flicked up to him, searching and thoughtful. The way the moon hit her skin made Hector want so badly to reach out and touch though he’d never dare it-he wondered what the pale skin of her face would look like with his calloused, bronzed hand against her cheek. 

“Thank you, Hector,” she murmured, looking heartbreakingly vulnerable for the first time since he’d since known her, but the look was gone in a blink. 

Shaking himself from his reverie, Hector motioned gently with his hammer and said cheekily, “Thank you, Countess.” 

When he got another giggle from her, he felt like he’d won a prize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me if you like this story! Comments make me really happy.


	7. To be a Devil Forgemaster

The Angel of Resurrection 

Chapter 7-To be a Devil Forgemaster 

‘Oh, fuck me, I hope this works,’ Hector thought, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. 

He closed his eyes and tried to call for that spark inside of him. It was always there-just under the surface waiting for him to ask. Sometimes he’d heard other humans in the village nearby talk about power, what it was in essence and what it felt like. 

If Hector had ever been a part of their conversations, he would have told them it felt like this. 

Even with his eyes closed, Hector could see the bright blue light from behind his eyelids illuminating the length of his hammer. He heard Arleigh gasp softly beside him. It didn’t feel like lightning striking through his veins or earthquakes rumbling his bones, but rather that he was a vast and bottomless ocean with endless potential. Life lived in the ocean and he could call all of it to him simply by willing it. 

He willed it now, pulling from the deep, deep well that was both within him and the essence of hell itself, feeling weightless. He struck the hammer, smiling at the familiar metallic chime as he began to call a soul. 

He was the dark ocean, he was hell, he could do this. 

The hammer chimed again. 

The soul was getting closer now, the one that was destined for this body. As if he could control waves and strong currents, Hector pushed and pulled the writhing soul from the depths towards the surface. 

The hammer chimed, and the man’s body was transforming, and twitching. 

He could feel the essence of the soul-he had once been an extroverted astronomer, he used to get drunk after making a discovery in the night sky, he’d fallen in love with his pupil, he’d turned to the dark arts once the church set his study ablaze with his lover inside… 

Hector opened his eyes as the night creature on the table took a gasping breath of air and Arleigh drew in a breath beside him. 

He’d almost wanted to ask her to stay back for a few moments, but then remembered: 

‘She could rip the poor thing’s head off, actually.’

“You’re safe now, my friend,” Hector hushed, trying to calm the creature who took startled breaths and looked wildly from left to right, “you can look at the night sky as much as you please, no one will hurt you here.” 

“He’s lovely,” Arleigh whispered, and then to the night creature on the table, “Hello, little one, you have a new home now in the castle. You’ll be taken care of, it’s alright.” 

The tenderness in her voice made Hector’s heart skip a beat-in Dracula’s castle, his night creatures had been regarded as a necessary evil amongst the vampires, and generally even they were disgusted by them. Or at least cautious. 

But Hector watched as the creature, now a strong-sized gray creature that would be at least seven feet with protruding fangs, leathery wings, and iridescent eyes, calmed his frantic chittering. He stared at Hector first and then Arleigh in turn, his shoulders slumping in what Hector expected was relief. 

“There now, you’ll be okay,” Arleigh cooed, stroking nimble fingers over one of the creature’s wings. The creature made a happy little sound. 

“Usually there isn’t such a welcome party,” Hector smiled, “I think he likes you.” 

“I hope he does,” Arleigh said fondly before turning her attention back to Hector, “and I must tell you that was incredible! I’ve only seen night creatures from a distance and getting to see how one is made is… nothing like I was expecting, but so beautiful and calm.” 

“I, well, yes-thank you,” Hector stammered, blushing at Arleigh’s bright eyes and the gush in her voice. 

“You have such a wonderful gift, Hector, that rarely anyone in the world gets to have. Thank you, for using it now and showing it to me,” Arleigh said with sincerity that made Hector’s knees weak. 

Hector cleared his throat to make sure it wouldn’t crack before he answered, “Thank you for being the first to say so.” 

Sweat beaded on Hector’s brow after the fifth night creature he’d made. His breath came in pants that frustrated him. Clearly, he was rusty because his stamina for necromancy wasn’t what it used to be. 

“Take a break with me?” Arleigh asked as the fifth creature regarded her curiously from the table. 

The first one he’d created, to Hector’s amusement, kept using its talons to play with Arleigh’s hair when her back was turned. Instead of snapping at him, Arleigh had laughed and put a little hat on his head. 

Hector nodded to Arleigh’s suggestion, turning to his creature on the table and told her, “You’ll be okay here, you can roam the castle with the others until we’re ready to launch an attack. That won’t be for a while.” 

Arleigh had turned on her heel to walk towards the couches near the window, and a smile spread widely on Hector’s face when he saw three of the five night creatures trailing behind her like baby ducks. 

“They don’t usually take so well to anyone who isn’t me,” Hector said, joining the train following Arleigh. 

“Perhaps it’s because I’m a witch,” Arleigh waved away, “I put the supernatural at ease.” 

‘Perhaps it’s because they’ve been in Hell for a millennium and the first thing they saw back on earth was an angel,’ Hector wanted to say, but bit back the thought. 

One of Arleigh’s fangs gleamed when she turned to look at the first night creature behind her and Hector reconsidered. 

‘No, not an angel. Something better than that, something real,’ he thought as he sat beside the Countess on a plushy aqua couch, the night creatures arranging themselves around the two. 

“Sorry,” he sighed, staring back at the forging table, “usually it doesn’t take me so long to make more than five-” 

“We aren’t in a rush,” Arleigh interjected, using one of her hands to reach out and cover a night creature’s hand with her own, “and I don’t want you to overdo it. What you’ve done already is marvelous and well beyond what I would have asked of you. But, I have been curious, did you miss forging night creatures?” 

Hector considered. 

He didn’t miss how cold the vampire court was-in both a literal and metaphorical sense. He didn’t miss having to watch his back even with a general’s ranking, and he certainly didn’t miss the constant bickering that came with his job-he felt out of his league trying to corral the immortal when his own social skills for command were learned out of books he’d read for enjoyment. 

But, what he’d come to Dracula’s castle to do in the first place, to use his power somewhere it could be entirely unrestricted to fill the world with creations given new life, well, yes. That had been wonderful. Every time he’d strike the hammer and another creature would spark to life, it had felt worth it. 

“I…” he began, at a loss trying to articulate, “it’s complicated. I miss creating night creatures, but I don’t miss what I was creating them for. I love to create them-it’s something I can’t get tired of. And I loved my private life in Dracula’s castle, with my night creatures, my animals who I miss dearly, my room, my workroom, but… I don’t miss Dracula, I don’t miss Isaac, and I don’t miss anyone else I got to know.” 

Arleigh nodded slowly as he talked, then tilted her head to the side. Hector noticed it made some of her curls bounce over her shoulder. 

“You’ve mentioned your animals twice now,” she noted, her silver eyes studying him.

“Yes, I,” Hector ran a hand through his curls, “they were my companions when I was on my own and in the castle. I had a dog, a cat, a fox, an owl, and a mouse who would get lost sometimes.” 

Hector felt a tight constriction in his chest when he thought of them now, and that no one would be showing them any affection in Dracula’s castle. Maybe they’d even been killed. 

“I’ve always loved animals,” Hector said in quiet confession, looking down at his hands, “since I was a boy. It’s how I got into forging, and how I discovered I could do it. There was a farm by my house I lived in with my… with my parents. The neighbors had a small golden dog I would play with named Henry.” 

Hector noticed somewhere in his mind that Arleigh was leaning in closer to him, urging him to continue. It felt foreign-someone listening to him ramble about animals. It felt nice. 

“One day when I’d went over to play with Henry, I found him after he must have been mauled by something bigger than he was-a wolf or a mountain lion, I’d thought. One of his eyes was missing and he had pieces of flesh taken out of him like something had been eating him. It was sad and… not right, that the baker who beat his daughters and the priest who kidnapped children got to live while the only kind, loyal creature in town had to die. I knew I had to do something, I felt that I could do something, and then something inside of me somewhere felt bottomless. I was crying like I’d always been told not to do, but for the first time I didn’t feel helpless.” 

Arleigh’s eyes softened, and Hector’s heart sped up when her hand reached for him before letting it fall back to her side. Hector tried not to be disappointed but continued when she nodded. 

“I’d always been good at working with metals, and my father had a blacksmith friend who would let me into his forge to make knickknacks or small things like horseshoes and daggers. I’d made these two coins in his forge with an inscription that came to me-out of nowhere, I’d never seen anything like it before. It’s the same sigil I carved into my hammer. To this day I’ve never seen that same sigil anywhere else, but when I struck the coins together over the farm dog, he came back to life again,” Hector explained, lost in that moment when he’d found out he was different and could do things that others couldn’t do. 

“I can’t imagine finding out about powers like yours alone,” Arleigh said, startling him out of his reverie back into the tulip-scented little bubble of reality with her, “with no one teach you the basics-and look, you’ve become an expert all on your own.”

“I don’t know about that,” Hector replied sheepishly as his cheeks grew hot, “my parents weren’t too happy when Henry came back to life.” 

The memory sobered him. He didn’t think on them much anymore. 

“Do you ever miss your parents?” Arleigh inquired, sounding melancholy for the first time since Hector had known her-it sounded foreign compared to her usual jovial lilt or analytical questions or simpered compliment. 

“No, I…” Hector’s mouth felt dry. 

“You don’t have to tell me, if it hurts to talk about them,” she assured quietly, looking down at her hands and fiddling with the rings on her fingers. 

“I killed them. I burned them alive in our house,” he confessed in a rush, wanting someone who wasn’t dead to know the truth. 

The only other person who’d ever known was Dracula, and though the ancient vampire hadn’t batted an eyelash, Arleigh was different. It felt an immense relief to tell her the truth, but he worried what she’d do with it now that she had it. 

“If you believe I think that makes you a monster, then I’m a little terrified to confess the worst things I’ve done,” Arleigh said, then leveled him with a serious gaze, “and I know for certain you wouldn’t do something so drastic on a whim-whatever they did, I’m glad you put a stop to them. I don’t believe you’d hurt them unless they hurt you.” 

“Do you miss your parents?” Hector ventured, uncomfortable with the conversation lingering on his parents, but hurting over the deep pain that sunk Arleigh’s features. 

“I do miss mine,” Arleigh confessed, parting her pink lips again as if to say something else before closing them again.

“What happened to them?” Hector asked cautiously. 

From the way her eyes held something like a scar-pain that was so old it had healed over but not quite right-Hector had the feeling the relationship Arleigh had with her parents was very different from his own. 

“Pillaged by Romans,” she said, her eyes sharpening again, concealing the scars behind them as she stood and brushed the front of her dress neat. 

“I-I’m so sorry,” Hector scrambled, standing up in turn. 

“As you can imagine, it was a long time ago and my tears for it have dried,” Arleigh said wryly, all traces of pain gone from her face but Hector couldn’t quite believe her. 

“I didn’t mean to bring up something painful,” he said earnestly, but Arleigh waved him away.

“You didn’t, but I need to go hunting. I’ll come to you later tonight for the war council, Hector,” she called over her shoulder as she was already striding away. 

It tugged on Hector’s heart to think how she’d concealed her pain so quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment if you like the story so far!


	8. Pink to Red

Chapter 8-Pink and Red

Arleigh loved the clarity and simplicity her animal form provided her. Her enormous paws could tear through the snow at breakneck speeds, her sense of smell was even better than usual, and her thick, white fur was a perfect disguise.

Not to mention, few animals in the arctic stood a chance against a normal polar bear, let alone a vampiric one. 

‘Gods, I needed this,’ Arleigh thought as she strode through a bank of snow that measured up to her belly, ‘and I had to get out to find what I need for Hector. Hector…’ 

Talking with Hector had brought painful memories to the forefront of Arleigh’s mind that she had long since wanted to forget. It wasn’t his fault, of course, but when he’d asked her about her own parents-

Fire being set to the apothecary across the street. Her screaming neighbor, a mother of two. Disgusting men on horseback stabbing unarmed farmers, carpenters, millers, smiths, and doctors. Those same disgusting men breaking the barricade her father had set on the door, her mother wailing as she dropped the vial of poison meant for Arleigh to take before she could be brutalized-

Arleigh snorted, shaking her massive head. The helplessness and unfairness was too much to think on for too long.

Still, she was glad her mother’s shaking hands had dropped the vial. It wasn’t meant to be that she would be killed by disgusting men, only that she would inherit their power after they thought they’d killed her. 

‘What he said about his own parents, that he’d burned them alive…’ Arleigh thought, crouching low in a snowbank as she spotted a leopard seal, ‘what did they do to him? And wanting to kill all humans? Someone made him want that, that isn’t natural in him. His aura is a soft blue, and only gentle hearts portray a soft blue.’ 

Arleigh made elongated, silent steps towards the predatory seal whose back was to her, his mottled gray skin gleaming under the moon with droplets of icy water. 

‘No, he isn’t a monster that would kill people close to him without cause. He said they weren’t happy when Henry was reincarnated, which is a polite way of saying they were small-minded bigots who probably beat him for being different,’ Arleigh scoffed internally as she lunged, her black claws making purchase with the seal’s hide. 

The leopard seal screamed, trying to wriggle free and bite back at Arleigh with impressive teeth of his own. Arleigh roared, the sound echoing off the mountains as she flipped the seal with her paws and sunk her teeth into its throat. Something snapped, and his flippers stopped twitching. 

Transforming back into her humanoid form to catch the blood, Arleigh’s naked body didn’t feel the chill of the snow. 

Animal blood was a different experience than human blood, and she was picky about what she drank. The seal had had a good life, with a protective mother seal when he was a pup and long, peaceful nights swimming in the arctic waters under the reflection of the moon. 

The blood made her fangs tingle and sharpen. She savored the bite into prey which was as easy as slicing through warm butter. It fed the monster in her, whom she had long since stopped trying to fight. Sometimes, she let herself just be herself when it was her and the arctic and no one else. 

Wiping her mouth and sitting up to look around, Arleigh surveyed the area before switching back to her form as a bear, shaking off her coat and standing on all fours. 

She sniffed the air and finally found what she was originally looking for. 

Hector had mentioned a few times now how much he’d missed his night creature animals and that they’d been a light in his life at Dracula’s forge. He’d preferred their company to his own kind, and Arleigh wanted him to be able to have that same kind of companionship in Styria.

‘I can’t replace what you’ve lost,’ she thought, trotting in the snow, ‘but I can give you a new life here with new animals who will love you as much as those that you lost.’ 

The smell of fresh death was close by, and she kept her black eyes peeled for what she sought. 

‘He reminds me of the way I used to talk about my familiar,’ Arleigh thought, sadness and joy springing to life inside her with the memory. Her goat, Lucinda, had been taken for livestock when the Roman invaders left her village and Arleigh had never seen her again. 

A tuft of gray fur peeking out of the snow caught her attention. Even without seeing she could smell it-a wolf pup, male, freshly frozen to death with none of his pack nearby. 

When she’d reached where he was buried under a few inches of snowfall and gently dug with her paws until the pup could be reached, she could guess why he’d died. He was so small. He must have been a runt that get left behind by his pack. 

He was darling, with light gray fur on his head, back, and tail with a white coat covering his belly and legs. Arleigh felt sure Hector would adore him, and her heart warmed as she gently used her teeth to pick up the pup by the scruff of his neck.

Just as Arleigh had hauled the little pup within a reasonable distance of the castle to transform, her sharp sense of smell picked up another scent similar to the wolf’s where she’d tracked it all the way to the edge of a frozen lake. Following her nose, she huffed in frustration when at first she hadn’t seen anything, but then she saw it. 

With solid white fur concealed perfectly in the snow, Arleigh had almost tripped over a little arctic fox with a broken paw. The fox was young, but an adult, female, and had likely starved as a broken bone meant death in the mountains. 

‘Now you’ll have a sister,’ Arleigh thought to the little wolf as she scooped the fox into her jaws just as gently. 

Hector paced around his forge. He’d been done inspecting the gear he would need some time ago, and he couldn’t focus his mind to sit down and read a book. Sometimes his night creatures would chitter anxiously when he’d expel a shaky breath, to which he’d reassure them that everything was fine. 

And it was-except he’d only been a part of one vampiric war council before and it had been an utter disaster. 

‘You’re being ridiculous,’ he scolded himself, ‘this is Arleigh’s council, and I can’t see her putting up with half the shit Dracula let slide daily.’ 

‘And this is important work,’ he reminded himself, a sobering thought. 

What he and Isaac had created, an army to end the world, was not what he had been promised. Hearing from others how blatantly Dracula had lied to him had stung as he’d felt there was a stronger bond of trust between him and the king of damned. And then Carmilla had lied to him again, wanting to use his talents to enslave the human race and keep them as livestock. 

And maybe once he’d wanted that. He didn’t now, now he just felt tired of the suffering and foolish that he’d had a hand in so much of it. He just wanted it to be over. He wanted Arleigh’s plans to stop the original army of murderous night creatures to succeed. 

They weren’t violent creatures, they were just following orders they couldn’t ignore, and that hurt him, too. 

“Hector!” Arleigh beamed, flinging open the doors to his forge and startling him so far out of his thoughts he thought he’d jumped out of his skin. 

“Arleigh, hello,” he gasped, spinning around with a hand over his racing heart. Seeing her didn’t make it beat any slower. 

She’d changed her dress after she’d gone hunting, and now powder pink cashmere clung to her every curve, outlining her breasts, hips, ass-Hector was quickly feeling like an ass for staring and for the grip of heat that curled deep in his body. 

Before she was radiant and beautiful, and she still was, but now she looked like sex and Hector hadn’t even had any-all he knew was that in this moment he desperately wanted to find out why people wrote books and songs about it. 

A sly smile coiled on Arleigh’s lips as if she could read his mind and Hector swore she strutted with each step just to make it difficult for him not to watch the hypnotic swaying of her hips. 

“Keeping busy?” the Countess asked, perfectly coy, but Hector could tell she had a secret-her hands were behind her back. 

“Probably not as busy as you,” Hector said, shooting her a questioning look, “what’s that?” 

“Well,” she beamed, unable to keep the gush from her voice once she was a pace away from Hector and he was enveloped in her tulip scent, “I thought you could use something, or rather a couple someones, to make you feel more at home here. Animal lovers shouldn’t be without animals.” 

Hector’s eyes widened when she revealed a tiny, frozen wolf pup in her right hand and a limp arctic fox in her left. Both were clearly dead, which only hurt for a moment before Hector realized what the vampire was doing. 

She was asking him to forge them, not for night creatures in the war, but just so that he could have animals again. 

“I didn’t kill them,” Arleigh said quickly, “the wolf was left for dead as a runt and the fox broke her paw and starved-I just happened to come across them.” 

“May I see them?” Hector asked, awe-struck by both the gesture and the two little creatures who would soon be roaming the castle with him. 

When he’d been enslaved by Carmilla he’d heard wolf packs in the distance who would howl at night. A passing thought occurred to him that he wanted to be one of them in that moment. They roamed free until they were dead, at least. 

He’d only seen one other arctic fox on his journey through the mountains, and unfortunately it was one that had been scooped up by a hawk-he’d only seen the poor thing gripped by talons for a few seconds before it was too far away. 

“Of course,” she said, gingerly handing him the fox and then the wolf who felt cold and soft in his hands, “maybe you could forge them tomorrow if you’re still exhaust-” 

“No, thank you, I-I’d like to do it now, please, if there’s still time before the war council,” Hector stuttered through the unexpected warmth, excitement, and amazement, “this is incredible, Arleigh! I mean, you really… thank you. I don’t know what to say.” 

“I’m glad to see you happy-you have a very handsome smile. And anyways, war council is a fancy term for sitting in nice chairs and talking when we feel like it-take your time. It’s my council, anyway,” Arleigh shrugged, a happy grin still warm on her face. 

She tucked a curl behind her ear and fell in step beside Hector as he walked to the forging table with his hammer and a blush on his cheeks. 

He said, “I’ve never met anyone whose interested in reanimating animals, so, thank you, Arleigh, this is more than I would have expected from… anyone. It will be nice, to have animals to care for again. They’re a different kind of life, especially night creature animals.” 

“I’m curious to see one so small,” Arleigh mused as Hector laid the animals down and stood before the wolf first, “none of my books ever spoke of the possibility of animal spirits coming from hell except as familiars to witches.” 

“Animal night creatures are kind of similar, from what I’ve read of familiars,” Hector assented, feeling a warm glow around the two of them, in a happy bubble no one could puncture. 

It didn’t take as much strength to call an animal night creature to the surface, because animal spirits from hell took after animal spirits from earth in that they were less complicated than humans. They gravitated towards Hector and all he had to do was show them the way forward. 

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, his fingers clenched the cool handle and brought it down to chime against the metal surface. 

Already the wolf twitched his tiny back legs and Hector heard Arleigh gasp in delight. It struck him as be brought the hammer down a second time that he was truly happy. He was happy being with Arleigh when she was happy, too, and clearly impressed by something he could do. It made his chest ache and his stomach flutter and stroked his ego after it had been badly bruised. 

The wolf’s front paws twitched, and he rolled onto his side with his eyes still closed. Hector knew he’d almost awoken, could feel the animal’s soul swimming frantically on its own to break the calm surface. 

With one more chime, the wolf rolled so hard he nearly rolled off the table before Arleigh’s hands shot out at preternatural speed to catch him. The little wolf squeaked and struggled with his paws before Arleigh set him down again. 

He was perfect. 

Hector contemplated that this was how mothers felt the first time they saw their baby. Hector felt bound to the little creature the moment he opened his glowing blue eyes and peered around the forge. 

“He’s feisty,” Arleigh giggled, watching as the tiny wolf yipped before looking around with his head cocked to the side. 

“And he’s so fascinated by the world, just like a baby,” Arleigh cooed, mirroring Hector’s thoughts and reaching back down to pick up the pup. The pup had other ideas. 

The wolf wagged his tail and then darted forward to nip Arleigh’s hand, hanging there stubbornly and refusing to let go as she snort-laughed at him. 

“Emory, that’s not very kind of you,” Hector scolded gently, scooping the pup up in his arms who immediately became docile, turning to his forge master with a lopsided grin. His fur was warmer now that there was a soul inside the body. 

“Emory? That’s an unusual name, but I like it,” Arleigh noted, bravely putting her hand on the pup’s head to pet him again. 

“I met a man named Emory once. I liked his name,” Hector said simply, bouncing the wolf slightly in his arms. The pup gave a short howl and then dived forward to gently nip his chin before letting go, which shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was. 

“I may have to work with him on the biting,” Hector frowned, but scratched the wolf’s ears fondly. 

“No, it’s darling,” Arleigh protested, scooping the pup out of his arms again, “and his teeth are too small to hurt anything. Aren’t they, little Emory?” 

In response, the pup bit her fingers, so she used her other hand to stroke his chin. 

“Maybe you reanimated him in an eternal state of teething,” Arleigh suggested, to which Hector chuckled, “and don’t you have a fox, too?” 

Hector didn’t want to turn away from Arleigh or the wolf in her arms, but he lightened at having not one but two animals in his company around the castle. He had grown to really enjoy his home here but had often sorely missed the companionship of his animal friends. 

Hector heard Emory give another playful little yip before he had to concentrate. Picking up his hammer, he went to the same deep ocean the wolf and all of his other night creatures had sprung from. 

With a few chimes of hammer, the fox twitched through the same stages of reanimation as Emory before timidly opening one blue eye and then the other. Her blue orbs met Hector’s and when she made a frightened noise, it felt like an arrow to Hector’s heart though he’d known her for all of a second. 

Wasting no time, he gently picked up the white fox who snuggled into her forgemaster, feeling safe in his arms. It gave him a deep sense of peace to be the one who could calm the animal. 

“Lillian,” he whispered, petting the fox’s head, who yawned in turn, “your name is Lillian.”

“That’s a very beautiful name for her-she’s a much gentler spirit than her brother,” Arleigh commented, playing with a wriggling Emory in her arms “her aura is pastel green and Emory’s is bright orange.” 

“Aura? You mean the energy that surrounds them?” Hector asked, turning to Arleigh with his brow quirked, “you can see theirs?” 

That was new information to him. He’d heard about “aura” in stories. Some hacks would come to town claiming to be able to see them to make a quick buck off villagers, but the Countess was a real witch. 

Hector could sense how Lillian’s energy was different from Emory’s as her forgemaster, and feel their spirit of sorts, but he couldn’t physically see it in the air. 

Not for the first time, Hector felt a thrill as Arleigh uncovered yet another one of her powers she thought so little of she’d spoken of it offhand-just how powerful was this woman? 

“I can see everyone’s,” Arleigh said, turning her silver gaze to Hector, “even yours.” 

“Mine?” Hector spluttered, suddenly self-conscious of something he hadn’t known existed. 

Arleigh nodded, pointing a slender finger so it collided with his chest, “yours is a soft blue, which means you are gentle, compassionate, understanding, and introverted to occasional reclusiveness. It’s uncommon to meet someone with your color of aura, and I’d thought it especially odd given your vocation.” 

“It makes perfect sense now, of course,” she finished, holding up Emory with his tail wagging in proof. 

Hector looked down at the fox who gazed at him curiously, soaking in the world from the safety of Hector’s arms. 

Blue, huh? Having a part of himself examined that he hadn’t known was on display made him want to cover up now that he’d heard from Arleigh herself she’d seen it, analyzed it, and explained it back to him. 

She was uncovering secrets about him even he didn’t know, and it was unsettling in a way that didn’t feel… bad? It felt, he admitted, good, actually, to have someone look at him and try to crack the puzzle, even if he didn’t know there was much of a puzzle to begin with. 

But fair was fair and he wanted to know something, too. 

“What color is yours?” he ventured. 

“It used to be bright pink, but it’s changed to red over the years. All vampires, it seems, will change to red eventually,” she said, tiredness deep-seeded in her voice and in the sudden slump of her shoulders, as if she were revealing damning information about herself. 

Maybe she was, Hector didn’t care. 

“Red is beautiful color,” Hector assured, and the look on Arleigh’s face was like his when he blushed, without the tones of pink.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me if you like the characters! Thank you for reading!


End file.
